


Little Cousin

by pieandsouffle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, R plus L equals J, Rhaegar survives and becomes king
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:19:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4038442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pieandsouffle/pseuds/pieandsouffle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Arya and Sansa Stark do not get along, Robb is nearly made to wear a dress, and the journey to King's Landing to visit Ned Stark's sister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, is fraught with arguments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Cousin

**Author's Note:**

> This is set when Arya's about 6, Sansa is 10, Jon and Robb are 12ish. Don't ask me why they have the direwolves, because I don't know.
> 
> I might add more chapters? Idk this was just a dumb idea that was swimming around in my head.

Sansa Stark watched eagerly as the servants in the courtyard below, tiny little brown, black and tan insects, scurried about, the final preparations for the journey south to King’s Landing well underway.

 

 

From as far above as she was, and through the chilled and frosted window pane, their faces and clothes blurred together in a haze of dull shades while she smugly pinned a last curl of auburn behind her ear and across the braid that flowed down her back. Brushing down her dress to make it lie just a little flatter where creases marred the deep green fabric, Sansa felt her heart beat faster in her chest, and felt that this uncommonly exciting day would raise her spirits higher than they had ever been, towards the sky, as high as the great Wall in the North.

 

Yet even as she thought of the day in hungry anticipation (the beginning of a journey!), her mood ebbed away into something sourer as familiar, clumsy footsteps echoed outside her ajar door, before a bundle of sticks and mud burst into her room.

 

Sansa spun from the window with a shriek as Arya Stark dove to the floor, wrestling a wolf-pup. “Get _out_!” she ordered, pressing herself against the wall as the two animals snarled on the floor. “Get out! I’ll tell Mother you messed up my room; even Lady is better behaved than you are!”

 

“Why are you wearing _that_?” Arya asked, ignoring everything Sansa had just told her, the little brat. Nymeria, or whatever awful name she had given her wolf-pup, was now settled comfortably in Arya’s tiny, grubby arms. “We’re riding horses. It’ll get dirty.”

 

 

“As a lord’s daughter, I take pride in my appearance, as you should, if you weren’t always running around and rolling around in filth!” Sansa snarled back, her hands clenching into fists inside her sleeves. “You’ll never get married if you behave like this!”

 

 

Arya made a face, and Nymeria licked at her mouth. Sansa felt sick.

 

 

“Why’d I want to get married?” Arya scowled. “It’d just be some dumb man telling me to do stupid stuff and make babies.”

 

 

“It’s an honour,” Sansa informed her coldly.

 

“It’s stupid,” Arya said decisively.

 

 

“That’s your opinion. And anyway, you’ll have to get changed, Mother wants us to look nice for the journey.”

 

 

“Mother’s not coming,” Arya complained.

 

 

“It doesn’t matter, she's a lady. She knows how we should dress.”

 

 

“It’s. On. A. Horse,” Arya repeated sternly. "I'm not wearing a _dress_ on a horse, that's uncomfortable."

 

“Well, we’re going,” Sansa said shrilly. “And you won’t embarrass me by looking dirty. Father will make you wear a nice dress instead of that horrid brown sack.”

 

 

“Robb’s not wearing a dress,” Arya said. "He can wear breeches. Why can't I?"

 

“Robb’s a man,” Sansa growled. “ _He_ can wear whatever he likes."

 

Arya pouted. "I'll wear a dress if Robb and Father wear dresses too."

 

There was a  _snerk_ of laughter from outside as Robb passed the door and overheard. Sansa flushed, and listened to Robb snort again, lean heavily against a cabinet while he recovered, and then continue on his way.

 

"You'll wear a dress!" Sansa commanded. "Father and Robb will wear breeches. And if you don't like it, I'll get the septa-" 

 

That seemed to do just the trick. As soon as the word septa left Sansa’s lips, Arya was suddenly nowhere in sight. Sansa sniffed, listened to Arya crash her way down the hallway, and run into Robb, who she heard had started laughing again.

She brushed out an imaginary crease, and stalked after her sister to talk to Mother.


End file.
